


Annie Edison's Nonjudgmental Sex Club

by implicated2



Category: Community
Genre: BDSM, F/F, Femslash, Scratching, commentfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-04
Updated: 2012-09-04
Packaged: 2017-11-13 12:43:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/503655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/implicated2/pseuds/implicated2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Femslash_Kink 2012 prompt: <i>Annie/Annie Kim, scratching</i>.</p>
<p>Please see content notes for warnings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Annie Edison's Nonjudgmental Sex Club

**Author's Note:**

> Content warnings:
> 
> 1) The Annie/Annie Kim dynamic starts out, as in canon, fueled by competition and rage. There is mutual desire, but consent takes a while to establish.
> 
> 2) There is some kink-denigrating language and posturing about what is and isn't "real BDSM."
> 
> 3) There is a brief incident of overt racism, similar to what you'd find in canon.

Even though they've had the same political science class together all semester, Annie thinks she's done a heroic job ignoring Annie Kim. But when her glossy, hand-raisey, smug archrival announces to the entire poli sci class that she's organizing this year's STD fair—the same STD fair that Annie Edison organized two years ago—it's just too much. Annie confronts her on their way out of class. “Since when are _you_ running the STD fair?”

Annie Kim smooths her hair against her shoulder. “Since Dean Pelton asked me to.” She keeps walking down the hall.

Annie follows her. She can feel herself getting just a little bit frantic. “But what about... the person who organized the STD fair before? Why wouldn't the Dean ask her? Or, whoever.”

Annie Kim stops, adjusts her posture, and gives a derisive little sniff as she answers. “I heard,” she says, turning to look at Annie, “that the girl who organized the last STD fair couldn't even say the word 'penis.'”

“Penis,” says Annie, because she's grown and changed in two years. “Penis, penis, penis.” Three guys she's never seen before stare at her, and she waves them away as they pass.

“Is that supposed to impress me?” Annie Kim starts walking again. She opens a door to a dark room and steps inside.

Annie doesn't know where this is going, but she can't tear herself away. “Why would I want to impress you?” She steps around the door, which shuts behind them with a click.

“I don't know,” says Annie Kim, flipping on a light and turning the lock. “Why would you follow me into a one-stall bathroom?”

Annie looks around. She didn't even know Greendale _had_ a one-stall bathroom. And for a Greendale bathroom, this one is really clean. But the fact remains that she followed Annie Kim here. Totally by accident. “Uh...”

But Annie Kim is already edging away slowly. She lowers her backpack to the sparkling tile floor and presses her back against the wall by the door. “For your information,” she tells Annie, “Dean Pelton asked me to do the STD fair because I'm president of the Greendale BDSM club.”

Annie lowers her own backpack to the floor, trying not to think about all the germs that are probably there, even on these weirdly sparkling tiles. “The _what_?”

Annie Kim shoots a scathing look Annie's way. “Bondage and discipline? Domination and submission? Sadism and masochism?”

“Ugh,” huffs Annie. “I know what BDSM is. Since when does Greendale have a _club_?”

“Since I started it,” says Annie Kim. She rolls her eyes. “Obviously.”

Annie's fingers clench. She can feel an explosion building as she steps forward into Annie Kim's space. “Well, maybe,” she says, pointing an accusatory finger, “I'll start a sex club of my own.”

Annie Kim leans forward until their faces are almost touching. “Well, go ahead.”

“Maybe I will,” says Annie, close enough that she can feel every word hit Annie Kim's chin.

“Good,” says Annie Kim. And then, weirdly, they kiss.

Annie's pretty sure Annie Kim started it. But Annie's the one who's got her hand in Annie Kim's hair, who's shoved her against the bathroom wall, fingers against her collarbone. Annie Kim's mouth is hot and tastes like cinnamon breath mints, and Annie pushes her tongue in under a row of perfect teeth. She wants to tear Annie Kim apart. She wants to crush her.

Annie Kim's hand snakes around the back of Annie's head and pulls her in further. Her tongue slides around Annie's, and she bites at Annie's lips, little sharp nips that _hurt_. Annie bites back, pushes harder when she hears Annie Kim gasp. She likes this, Annie realizes with a growing thrill. She's kissing Annie Kim, and she _likes it_.

And then, just like that, it's over. Annie Kim breaks away, pushes her back, stands up straight, and smooths down her hair. She doesn't even seem winded. “For your information,” she says, with a little toss of her head, “scratching isn't even _real_ BDSM.”

Annie stares at her. “Huh?” Then she sees Annie Kim's chest. All along her collarbone are bright, red lines. “Did I do that?”

Annie Kim rolls her eyes. “Obviously,” she says, and then she picks up her backpack and walks out.

 

“Guys,” says Annie, as she walks into the study room. “I need to start a sex club.”

Five heads swivel around to stare at her. Jeff keeps his eyes on his phone.

“Uh, Annie.” Britta's using her calm, psychologist voice. “You know we all support you— ”

“Maybe _you_ do,” Shirley interjects.

“I've been to some pretty seedy sex clubs,” Pierce adds. “It's a rough business, Annie.”

Britta clears her throat. “Well, those of us who aren't repressed, or creepy, or, uh, texting support you. But I think I speak for everyone when I say, _what_?”

“Like, a student club,” Annie clarifies. “With a president.”

“Oh,” says Abed. “This is about Annie Kim being president of the Greendale BDSM club.”

“No, it's not,” says Annie.

Pierce's eyes go alarmingly wide. “Greendale has a fetish club? And it's run by an Asian girl?”

“Asian woman,” Britta corrects him. “And whatever you're about to say about that, ew.”

“Wait, Abed,” says Annie, because something has suddenly occurred to her. “How did you know that Annie Kim was the president of the Greendale BDSM club?”

Troy and Abed look at each other sheepishly. “Uh,” says Troy. “We kind of helped vote her in.”

“ _What_?” Annie feels another explosion starting to build.

Abed shrugs. “She said she'd get someone to teach kickpunching.”

“ _Kickpunching_?” Annie's voice is dangerously high-pitched. “That's not even a real thing, Abed.”

But then Abed kind of deflates, and Annie feels bad, because that's basically what Annie Kim said to her about scratching. “I'm sorry,” she says. “I take that back. I don't want to be all judgey. In fact, that's the whole point of my sex club. It's for everyone.”

Troy perks up. “Would we talk about butt stuff?”

“Of course!” Annie smiles brightly.

“Will married people be welcome?” asks Shirley.

“Of course they will, Shirley,” says Annie.

“Will there be Asian girls there?” asks Pierce.

Annie glares at him as the whole room groans in unison. “Okay, that, I judge.”

“Well, I'm in,” says Britta.

“I'm in,” says Abed.

Jeff finally puts down his phone. “I'm in.”

So it's nearly unanimous. Now Annie just has to figure out what presidents of sex clubs _do_.

 

Annie runs her fingers along the top edge of the flyer. It keeps being just a millimeter away from level, and she needs it to be perfect. Not that Annie's checking, but Annie Kim hasn't come out of their poli sci classroom yet, and if she just happened to show up while Annie was putting up her flyer, Annie would be maybe just a teensy bit interested in seeing her reaction.

Okayokayokay. Annie's actually been thinking about it a lot. Wondering how those red marks on her chest look three days later, imagining how it might feel to make more, deliberately. She may even have done some internet research.

Annie feels more than hears her archrival appear behind her. There's the sense of someone peering over her shoulder, and then Annie Kim is right there, reading the words of her flyer aloud.

“ _The Nonjudgmental Sex Club?_ ” She makes a little tsk-ing noise in the back of her throat. “That's not even an officially recognized student organization.”

Annie feels her body start to tense. “So?” she says.

“So, good luck getting people to show up.” She leans in and hisses the rest into Annie's ear. “Especially when it's scheduled opposite the BDSM club.” Then she walks away.

Annie smooths out the edge of the flyer for the last time and jams a pushpin into the corkboard. It's only when she looks up that she realizes Annie Kim has stopped a few paces down the hall. Looking straight at Annie, she nods her head in the direction of the one-stall bathroom. “Are you coming or what?”

Annie follows in an almost-daze. They don't talk on the way, and Annie tries to remember everything she now knows about BDSM and what exactly you're supposed to do when your enemy, who you want to tear into little sexy bits, pulls you into an improbably sparkling bathroom and locks the door.

No, not what you're _supposed_ to do. What Annie _wants_ to do. Because some of those websites she found were pretty darn interesting. Oh, and scratching? Annie doesn't care if it's _real BDSM_ or not; she likes it. She may have spent some of last night sharpening her thumbnail to a point.

Annie Kim puts down her backpack and takes off her glasses. She puts the end of the glasses frame in her mouth and gives it a casual little lick. The flash of tongue makes Annie shiver.

She catches Annie looking and smirks as she puts the glasses down on top of the sink. Then she pushes herself back against the bathroom wall again. “Well?”

Annie's stomach clenches. She can admit it: she's kind of been hoping they'd end up here again. She's honestly had some pretty vivid fantasies, but now that she's looking at the object of her fantasies in the flesh, she feels out of her depth. For the first time since her first confrontation with Annie Kim, things are actually moving slowly enough that she has a second to think. And what she thinks is that she doesn't have enough information. “Uh,” she says, feeling like a total dork, but also angry, because shouldn't the _president of the BDSM club_ know to bring this stuff up first? “Shouldn't we, like, negotiate or something?”

“Oh.” Something passes over Annie's archrival. “Okay. What did you have in mind?”

It's a completely terrifying question. Annie wants a bunch of things at once, but she's not sure she's prepared to say any of them out loud. Annie Kim's lips are shiny and wet, and Annie wants to taste them, wants to press her body against her archrival's and shove her tongue in. She wants to rake her fingers over Annie Kim's perfect throat. She wants more, too, but the _more_ comes in images, in flashes: a clawed hand swiping across Annie Kim's chest, swift and hard; a sharp thumbnail dragging up Annie Kim's thigh.

“Ugh,” says Annie Kim impatiently. “I didn't know you could get voted president of a sex club for having absolutely nothing to say about sex.”

“It's a _nonjudgmental_ sex club,” Annie hisses, starting to lose her composure. “We don't get all self-righteous about someone taking a minute to figure out what to say.”

“Whatever.” Annie Kim flattens her back against the wall and smooths her pleated skirt against her thighs. Is it Annie's imagination, or does she deliberately show off her leg as she runs her finger along the fabric's edge? “Look. I like being shoved against the wall. I like pain. If you're gonna leave marks, do it under my clothes. And if you're gonna fuck me, use these.” She reaches down and unzips her backpack, then pulls out a Ziploc baggie and tosses it to Annie. It's filled with latex gloves and a little plastic tube of something Annie realizes must be lube. “Courtesy of the STD fair,” Annie Kim explains. “Oh, and not that you'll need it, but my safeword is Cligoris.”

Annie stares at her. “Your safeword is our poli sci professor's name?”

Annie Kim makes an exasperated noise. “Just go with it.”

“Fine,” says Annie.

“Fine?” echoes Annie Kim.

“ _Yeah_.” As she says it, Annie realizes it _is_ fine. Her seriously maddening and seriously hot archrival has just given consent for Annie to shove her up against the wall and _hurt_ her, and Annie can't wait to get her fingers up under that snotty little sleeveless turtleneck. She steps forward, pushes Annie Kim's shoulders back against the bathroom wall and presses her mouth open with a kiss.

It's not even about their mouths, not really. It's like the kiss is some kind of conduit for all of the rage and fear and want that's been building ever since the two of them first stepped into this bathroom three days ago. Ever since that week after the study group beat Annie Kim and her lackeys at Model U.N., and for two whole poli sci classes, Annie could feel her archrival's eyes shooting daggers. Ever since Annie Kim started making claims in her direction about what was and wasn't _real BDSM_ , and it sent Annie down a rabbithole of Google searches and image galleries, most of which she'd rather forget, but some of which sparkle through her brain now, making a million nerve endings light up.

Annie moves a hand up into Annie Kim's hair, pulling her head back and then pressing her own mouth in harder. The feeling of control makes her shiver, and when she loosens her fingers and pulls again for a tighter grip, the sound of her archrival's yelp shoots through her like a bolt. She needs more. She slides her free hand up under Annie Kim's sweater and rakes her nails up her belly, fanning them out just above her bra.

Annie Kim makes a noise into Annie's mouth, and Annie's pleased with herself until she hears it again and realizes it's a word. She pulls away. “What?”

“Harder,” Annie Kim hisses. She gives a huffy little sigh, but it turns into a gasp when Annie's pointed thumbnail streaks across the top of her breast in a swift diagonal line. Annie teases her fingers up, runs her nail lightly along Annie Kim's throat, careful not to leave a mark. Annie is conscious, suddenly, of her mouth feeling empty, and she leans in again, tasting berry lip gloss, feeling Annie Kim's breathing speed up.

The problem with topping, Annie thinks, is that she's the one who decides what happens in the moment. She likes being in control—of that, she's becoming more certain by the minute—but she's still new at this, and she doesn't always have a clear idea of what she wants to _do_. And what started as another hot kiss is getting stale: her hand is resting on her archrival's neck, the kiss is on autopilot, and Annie's feeling awkward and out of her depth. Annie Kim notices, of course, and pulls herself away. She straightens herself against the wall and does a little snaking motion with her head. “Are you going to take my bra off, or what?”

Annie pushes forward, forcing her tongue messily through her archrival's lips. She's enraged again, but it feels different, off-kilter. She can taste Annie Kim's annoyance, or, no, wait, maybe that's her own, but she keeps going, determined not to back down. Shakily, she starts to reach a hand between Annie Kim's back and the wall, and then something snaps in her, and she pushes herself off and steps backwards, shaking herself as she goes.

“Look, Annie Kim,” Annie hisses, pointing an accusatory finger. “Do you want to do this or not? Because if you're looking for some kind of sex robot who knows what she wants all the time, or who knows what _you_ want all the time and does that, you're barking up the wrong tree. I'm not perfect, okay? Sometimes it takes me time to figure out what I want. And if that's not good enough for you, if that's not _real_ enough for you, then you can just go back to your BDSM club and leave me out of it.” She stamps her foot in emphasis. “Oh, and for the record, I don't want to take your bra off. If you want it off, take it off yourself.”

Annie takes a deep breath, then dares a look up.

There's an expression on Annie Kim's face she doesn't recognize. Slowly, Annie's archrival reaches behind herself and fiddles around for a moment, then pulls down a pair of straps, and finally slides something pink and lacy out through one of her sweater's armholes. She lets the bra fall to the ground and gives a little shrug in Annie's direction. “Sorry,” she mouths.

Annie picks up the bra and sets it down on top of Annie Kim's backpack. She's not sure which is more shocking: her own outburst or Annie Kim's apology. All she knows is that suddenly, weirdly, she's way less angry. And that even a contrite Annie Kim is shockingly hot.

“So,” says her archrival, after a moment's silence, “are you going to leave?”

“Do you want me to leave?” Annie asks. She's pretty sure she knows the answer, but she wants to hear it.

“No,” says Annie Kim, with a shy little smile.

“Good,” says Annie. “I'll stay. Just give me a minute.”

The minute she takes turns out to be a really good thing. It gives her a chance to remember why she's here to begin with, to think of a couple things she _does_ want to do, and to shake the last of her tantrum out in a series of flaily arm gestures that might or might not look ridiculous, but if Annie Kim doesn't like it, she's free to go.

And maybe she does like it, because when Annie looks back at the wall, Annie Kim is leaning there, watching her, still kind of smiling. “What?” says Annie.

“You're cute.” It doesn't come out condescending or mean, just a little flirty, a little arch.

Annie smiles graciously. “Thank you,” she says, and she takes a deliberate step forward.

The pair's eyes meet, and something shifts between them. It's softer now, warmer, more connected. Annie still wants to hurt the other Annie, that hasn't changed, but it feels less about anger now and more about desire. Annie steps forward again and slides both of her hands up under Annie Kim's shirt.

Annie Kim's breasts are soft, and they give easily under the press of Annie's nails. She scratches harder, and the other Annie gasps, her chest pushing forward into the sensation. There is something thrilling about the power Annie has here, and she watches Annie Kim's eyes slide closed, her mouth just slightly open. Every so often, she makes a tiny, breathy noise, and Annie loves knowing it's in reaction to her own movements, her own fingers. She takes hold of one of Annie Kim's nipples and runs her pointed thumbnail along the edge, loving the sharp breath she gets in response.

Emboldened, she frees her left hand and grabs Annie Kim by the hair again. She uses the other hand to lift up Annie Kim's sweater. There are red lines everywhere, and it's gorgeous. This week's image galleries aside, Annie's never really looked at another woman's breasts, and it strikes her now that she'd like to do a lot more looking, a lot more touching. On a sudden impulse, she leans in and sucks one of Annie Kim's nipples into her mouth. She bites at it, gently at first, and then, as she hears the other Annie gasp and pant and whimper, she bites harder, meaner.

Annie's panting too, she realizes when she lets go, and her teeth have left little dents. She reaches in for Annie Kim's other breast, biting almost immediately and grinning when she hears her archrival's choked cry. It's intoxicating, this power. _I like pain_ , Annie Kim said earlier, and Annie likes it too. Likes causing it. Wants more.

Her hand has come to rest against the tile wall, but bravely, she reaches down and places it on Annie Kim's leg. She lets go of the other Annie's breast and stands up straight, looking her in the eye as she drags her fingers up the other Annie's thigh, under her skirt, under the lace waistband of her underwear.

Annie's never done anything like this before, not really, but she wants to, so she reaches over into the front panel of Annie Kim's underwear and fans out her fingers, scratching hard against the triangle of skin she finds there. Annie Kim's gasp is audible, and she looks up at Annie, her eyes pleading.

Left hand still in the other Annie's hair, Annie lets her right hand wander. She scratches up one of Annie Kim's inner thighs and down the other, scratches the back of her leg up to where her butt meets the wall, runs her pointed thumbnail along the crease of Annie Kim's thigh. She's teasing and she knows it; she likes the little whimpers Annie Kim makes at her, likes that she can feel Annie Kim's body following her like a magnet. She hooks two fingers under the band of Annie Kim's underwear and snaps it against her hip.

At the back of Annie's mind is that little Ziploc baggie Annie Kim threw at her earlier. If she's coming into contact with any body fluids—and she certainly wants to—she knows she's best off using a barrier. But she doesn't exactly know the protocol. Is she just supposed to stop what she's doing and put one of those gloves on? She feels insecure again, and to distract herself, she leans forward and kisses the other Annie, pressing herself up against her, hip to hip.

Finally, she disentangles herself. “I'm going to get one of those glove-things,” she announces, and goes to find the baggie on the sink.

It's not actually difficult to put on a latex glove, and Annie wonders if every time she sees them in hospitals from now on, she'll think of this moment. Of Annie Kim, pulling off her pink lace underwear, which of course match her bra, and tossing them at her backpack. Of the cool gel that comes out of the tube and slides over her fingers. Of the way Annie Kim looks at her as Annie steps forward: hot, a little vulnerable, ready.

One of Annie's hands finds the other Annie's hair again and pulls her head back. She presses her mouth in for a kiss, wanting to feel that connection as her lubed hand reaches under Annie Kim's skirt and traces a wet line. Annie Kim gasps as Annie's fingertips brush and tease and gives a high, desperate whimper when they find their way inside. It feels warm and slidey and a little overwhelming, and Annie tries to remember what one of the websites told her about curling your fingers forward and creating some kind of of pressure with your thumb.

Annie Kim is moaning now, hot little whimpers, and she's practically bouncing on Annie's fingers, sliding herself up and down and rubbing up against her gloved thumb. Annie feels herself start to pant in sympathy, feels herself quiver and clench. She's less focused than she wants to be, though, and she can't quite place why. Her fingers slow, and Annie Kim looks at her, not mad, not mean, more curious.

Then it hits her: _pain_. She lets go the other Annie's hair and uses her hand to reach up under her shirt and swipe down hard and fast, her nails like claws. Annie Kim lets out a startled cry, and Annie keeps going, one hand thrusting up into her, the other moving around behind her, raking up her back and pushing her out from the wall. There's a rush to it, Annie realizes: she feels vast and powerful and _completely intoxicated_ , and every gasp and whimper and catch of breath aches through her, makes her own breath go shallow.

She keeps scratching, keeps thrusting. She loses herself in it, goes almost lightheaded, and then Annie Kim makes a long, strangled cry. For a second, Annie almost doesn't realize what's happening, and then there's another cry, and more, faster, and the feeling around her fingers changes, and she sees Annie Kim's mouth drop into a pink, perfect 'o.'

She keeps her fingers moving until Annie Kim goes still, and then she pulls them out, tossing the glove into a metal trash can with a swinging lid. She feels a million things at once: proud, awed, tender, a little bit confused about what happens now.

“Kiss me?” asks Annie Kim, and her voice is small, maybe even fragile.

They kiss, more slowly, catching their breath. When they pull apart, Annie asks, “Now what?”

Annie Kim straightens herself up, smooths down her skirt, and runs a hand through her hair, grimacing at the tangles she finds. “I don't know about you,” she says, “but I've got homework. Not to mention two meetings and a fundraiser later.” She sighs, then shakes herself, moving away from the wall and stepping back into her underwear. “I think,” she says in a low voice, “I might be a little bit overcommitted.”

Annie smiles, watching with interest as Annie Kim lifts up her sweater to put her bra back on. She's covered in scratch marks. “Uh,” Annie says, “about the BDSM club?”

The other Annie goes to the sink, gets her glasses, and puts them back on. It makes Annie a little sad, like she's putting her private-face away. “What about it?”

Annie looks up shyly. “I was thinking maybe our clubs could have a joint meeting.”

Annie Kim eyes her, suspiciously at first, and then she seems to warm to the idea. “I'd like that, other-Annie,” she says, slinging her backpack over her shoulder.

“I'd like that too, other-other-Annie,” says Annie, picking up her poli sci books.

“So we're agreed.” Annie Kim holds out her hand.

“Agreed.” Annie steps toward her no-longer-archrival, arm extended.

They shake hands, and then, together, they walk out into the hallway.


End file.
